When wildlife becomes the photographer, roles reverse in the most delightful way. In the frigid waters of North Iceland, this harbor seal's inquisitive eyes met mine in a moment of mutual curiosity—just its face breaking the surface of the impossibly blue water.
The narrow, shoulder-less roads of Iceland had teased us with glimpses of wild horses for days. When we finally found a safe place to pull over, Corey's walk through the golden field created something unexpected—a cinematic moment worthy of Gladiator.
The eastern approach to Dettifoss isn't for the faint-hearted—a kidney-jarring hour on unpaved roads. But as I stood before Europe's most powerful waterfall from this less-visited vantage point, capturing its raw force up close, I knew every bump was worth it.
In the quiet dawn at Skogafoss, my wife stood alone before the thundering cascade, arms outstretched. This moment—one human embracing nature's raw power—perfectly captures why I wake before tourists arrive. Some photographs need both solitude and scale to tell their story.
Standing behind the thundering curtain of Seljalandsfoss as golden light painted the Icelandic landscape, I realized some perspectives are worth getting soaked for. This rare alignment of water, light, and timing created nature's perfect frame.
The moment was pure serendipity—Iceland's famous turquoise waters of Bruarfoss Waterfall framed by the first blush of autumn. I hadn't planned for this perfect collision of seasons, but nature delivered a color contrast that photographers dream about.
The harsh geometric lines of Hallgrímskirkja softened under the first golden rays of Reykjavík's sunrise. With only flowers and silence as my companions, I witnessed this concrete giant transform from austere sentinel to glowing beacon.
In the hushed blue darkness before Reykjavík awakens, I found myself alone with the Sun Voyager. As golden light crept across the harbor, the stainless steel sculpture transformed—no longer mere metal, but a vessel caught between dreams and dawn.